Service, Secrets, Silence & Grace
by northernexposure
Summary: Christmas fluff, rather inevitably...
1. Chapter 1

**Secrets, Service, Silence & Grace**

**A/N:** Total fluff Christmas fic of indeterminate length, set season four. Rosettaston3 said she wouldn't mind me writing a 'ball' fic despite her latest lovely offering, so here's the (short) start. Also getting seriously sick of FF not allowing me to edit/keep my formatting. WTF is the point of having a line break option if it only works some of the time. Grr.

**-X-**

Attending the Mayor of London's annual Christmas ball was not Harry Pearce's idea of an enjoyable night out. For a start, it would mean wearing his least favourite form of attire – a dinner suit. It also meant trying once again to remember how to fasten a bow tie, which had never been his strong point. Not to mention spending an interminably boring evening with a series of businessmen and politicians full of nothing but hot air and their own importance. And every ignorant one of them, Harry knew, would relish the idea of being able to corner him in order to explain, in all their gloried ignorance, exactly what was wrong with the security services in Britain today.

But there was no escape. London was a large part of Harry's jurisdiction, and keeping the Mayor onside helped him police that jurisdiction in more ways than one. So Harry had resigned himself. One evening of misery. He could do that. He'd done worse.

Harry stared at his wardrobe with a sigh. He could only hope that his waistline hadn't expanded beyond what the best of his white dress shirts could handle.

**-X-**

"You must be _joking_."

Adam was perched on the edge of her desk. Ruth looked up at him, noting that he'd schooled his face into his best 'little boy lost' expression. Well, that might work on some, but _she _wasn't having any of it.

"Please?" he asked. "You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn't out of other options."

She shook her head. "I can't. I just… can't. Sorry."

"Come on, Ruth," Zaf interjected, with a grin. "You'll have fun. Free drinks and nibbles _and_ you get to dress up. When was the last time you had a good night out, anyway?"

Ruth ignored the question. The answer was too depressing. "This isn't going out," she said. "It's just more work. And not even _my kind _of work! I'm a desk agent, remember?"

"Yes, but I can't make poor Jo go, can I?" said Adam, "honestly, Ruth, you should see her. Her nose is a perfect double for Rudolf's, and her eyes look as if she's been crying for weeks. Poor kid's in a right state. It really is full-blown flu – and with the best will in the world, I can't send a sick agent on a mission like this. An evening dress and a streaming nose? She'll stand out like a sore thumb. And the Mayor has distinctly instructed us to be discrete. It was the only way we managed to persuade him to have security mingling with the guests at all."

"Well – well then, Fiona can do it. The two of you, together – you do this kind of thing all the time. You're good at it!"

Adam shook his head. "Wes is sick. You wouldn't take us both away from him, would you?"

Ruth sighed. She could feel her control of the situation slipping away. "And so, once again, the old maid draws the short straw. Why am I not surprised?"

Zaf tutted. "Old maid? Don't be daft. You're beautiful, single… and about to go to a ball. I'm envious."

Ruth swung her chair around to face him. "Tell you what then, Zaf. How about you go out, buy yourself a dress, and _you_ can bloody well go with Adam instead. How about that?"

Zaf grinned again. He stood up and with a flourish, held out a dress bag that had been neatly folded on his desk. "Too late, I'm afraid. Adam and I went shopping earlier. We picked something out. It's in your size, though, not mine. So…"

Ruth stood up and looked between them, genuinely insulted. "You bought me an evening gown? What makes you think I don't already have one?"

She saw the two men glance at each other.

"Oh, for God's sake," she scowled. "Give it here."

[TBC]


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I just got this text from a relative, who works at the National Theatre: "Hi lovely, just seen Nicola Walker and had a huge hug and caught up with her and she's very well and enjoying the show (which I'm seeing tonight)." - So just how bloody jealous am I right now? Although I do at least get to see _Season's Greetings_ myself next week. Woo hoo!

PS - No, there isn't something I've forgotten to describe... bear with...

**-X-**

Ruth stared at herself in the mirror. The dress was black and floor-length, with long sleeves and a softly-draped cowl neckline that was not, she had been relieved to discover, inappropriately low. Cut on the bias, the fit was really very flattering, even to Ruth's own eyes. It somehow managed to make her waist look far tinier than she ever remembered it being. Not that she was going to complain. Yes, from the front, she looked elegant, demure and presentable. It was the back she'd nearly had kittens over. But with time ticking away, there was no option but to wear what she'd been given.

Ruth sighed and began to sweep her hair up into a chignon. She really didn't want to go on this mission. The idea of milling around in a room full of strangers sounded awful at the best of times. Having to spy on them made it even worse. And having to dress up to do it was just cringe-worthy, quite frankly. If she'd wanted to be in the field, she would have gone that route in the first place. She was perfectly happy behind a desk, thank you very much. Why couldn't people just leave her to do what she was good at?

Pushing her last kirby grip into place, Ruth pulled a couple of strands of hair around her face to soften the look and narrowed her eyes at the woman staring at her from the glass. Taking a deep breath, she slipped on the black court shoes she always kept in her desk drawer (Just in case. Of what, she'd never been sure. Until now), and reluctantly returned to the Grid.

As she headed for her desk, she saw Zaf glance up. His jaw dropped slightly as he did a swift double-take and stood up.

"Bloody hell, Ruth."

"What?" she asked, defensively.

Zaf shook his head. "You look great."

Despite herself, she blushed, and then wished she hadn't. "Thank you. Although you could have tried to sound less surprised."

"I'm just surprised that Adam and I managed to pick something that suits you so well, that's all. Come on, then - give us a twirl."

"I do that, and it's likely to fall off. As you well know."

Zaf put on his best innocent face. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Right," she said, not believing him for a second. "Where's Adam?"

"In with Malcolm, getting one of the new micro-earpieces fitted. He wants you to have one, too."

"I'd better get over there then, hadn't I?"

Ruth walked toward Malcolm's office. She could feel Zaf's eyes on her back all the way, and couldn't help glancing toward Harry's office. He wasn't there, of course. He'd taken the day off – some rare leisure time that she'd been glad to see him take, despite how empty the Grid always seemed without him. Ruth had even managed to prevent herself from asking him what he was going to do with his day. That was her new strategy for dealing with what she called her 'Harry problem'. Keep him at arm's length, she told herself, and eventually whatever it was that flared in her belly every time they spoke was sure to fade away.

Malcolm was just finishing up with Adam when she arrived in his doorway. She was rewarded with double double-take, as both men looked her up and down. Adam raised his eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that," she said. "You chose the bloody thing."

Adam smiled slightly. "So I did. Didn't realise I had such good taste."

"You look smashing, Ruth. Really." Malcolm said. "Now, come here so I can fit you with this." He was holding what looked like a tiny computer chip between his forefinger and thumb. In his other hand he held a small diamanté hairpin. "The chip goes in your ear, and I can add the pin to your 'do. It'll transmit to a range of three miles, so as long as you don't meet Prince Charming and do a runner, we should be able to pick up everything you say and hear. Okay?"

"Now, listen, Ruth – we're not expecting any trouble at all at this do," Adam told her. "We've got no intelligence that there's anything planned. Our presence is merely a precautionary measure. So there's no need to worry about a thing."

"Famous last words," Ruth murmured. She held her head still as Malcolm slipped the listening device into her inner ear, relieved that she couldn't feel it at all. Then she turned around and waited for him to add the hairpin. There was a pause. It dragged on for so long that that she turned to look over her shoulder. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm cleared his throat as he dragged his gaze up to her hair. His cheeks were red. "Um. Sorry… Just be a tick."

Ruth turned back with a sigh to find Adam grinning at her. "This is the last time anyone else buys me anything to wear. Understand?"

Adam tipped her a sloppy salute. "Got it."

"What's my legend?"

"We've kept it simple. You're a visiting attaché to the Italian foreign minister."

Ruth frowned. "Italian?"

"Sure. You're fluent, right? You can give your accent skills a bit of a workout."

"Brilliant," Ruth said, dryly, "This assignment just gets easier and easier. What else do you want me to do, dance the Samba?"

"Only if the fancy takes you. Obviously, if we run into Harry, we'll have to act as if we don't know him."

Ruth felt the world stop spinning on its axis. "What?"

"Well, our cover means that we can't be as familiar with him as we would be usually."

"But-" said Ruth. "Wait – Harry's going to be there?"

Adam nodded. "As a guest, not an operative."

"Oh," she said.

Adam frowned. "Ruth? Everything okay?"

She plastered a smile on her face. The flock of butterflies in her stomach had suddenly turned into galumphing great elephants. "Fine," she said. "I'll remember, don't worry."

Adam grinned. "Right then. Let's go, shall we?"

[TBC]


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I can't imagine the rest of this very predictable fic will live up to your expectations… I'm a bit burned out, I realised as tried to write this. Having a terrible week at work, so this is another short bit. But I'll keep trying! Reviews help ;)

**-X-**

Harry was on his second glass of champagne, which had been served him by Adam, who, the older man had noted with considerable chagrin, managed to carry off a silver service uniform with far more aplomb that Harry did his dinner suit. They'd not acknowledged each other, but the Section D head had been pleased to see him there. Persuading the Mayor to allow an MI5 presence inside the party had been difficult, but as far as Harry was concerned, vital. There were enough dignitaries there to make any hiccup an international disaster.

He hadn't seen Jo yet, but assumed she must be around somewhere, probably also serving drinks. Harry had wondered whether she'd make it, she'd been so sick the previous day. But Adam hadn't told him of any change of plans, so she must have pulled herself together for tonight. Harry was proud of her. She'd turned into a top-class agent, one he was happy to count as part of his team.

Harry kept one ear on the conversation going on in front of him. He was ostensibly chatting to some Sir or other whose knight-worthy talent seemed to be for running fashion stores, but for the last fifteen minutes, he'd not had an opportunity - or any inclination, in fact – to get a word in edgeways. Harry had long ago developed certain skills in such situations, namely, the ability to appear as if he was listening, and indeed, to listen just enough to chip in when required, even though most of his attention elsewhere.

In actual fact, Harry hadn't really been listening for most of the conversation. Instead, his surreptitious gaze had been repeatedly drawn to a woman standing a little way across the room. She was deep in conversation with a dark-haired man he recognised as being an aide at the Italian consulate – these parties tended to attract the same attendees over and over again. He'd never seen this woman before, though. She was petite, barely reaching her companion's chest. Her dark hair was curled up in a twist and pinned against her head, revealing an elegant neck. Harry's interest in her wasn't reciprocated – she'd had her back to him ever since he'd noticed her. Which, if Harry was brutally honest with himself, was why he'd noticed her in the first place. She was wearing the most daringly-cut dress he'd ever seen.

Though her shoulders and slim arms were covered down to her wrists, her back was almost completely bare. The dress was cut to display her shoulder blades before falling in a slow curve to her waist, where two thin straps criss-crossed, presumably to prevent the whole ensemble from gliding off of its own accord. Below the straps was revealed another expanse of skin as the fabric slowly tapered to a point just above the base of her spine. Any lower, and she could probably be had for public indecency. As it was, Harry had found himself wondering just what sort of underwear could possibly be worn under such a garment, and concluded that it was more likely the woman wasn't wearing anything at all. He couldn't see any lines marring the flow of the fabric, which from the taper briefly pulled taut across her buttocks before falling in an expanse of black silk to the floor.

Harry reflected, gratefully and acknowledging that he was proving his own point in doing so, that one could easily lose oneself in the simple contemplation of such a woman. Her unblemished skin was pale, glowing ivory in the dimmed lights of the ballroom. The shadows cast by her shoulders shimmered elegantly along the curve of her spine as she laughed with her companion. Harry wondered what the joke was, and wished he could swap places with the Italian. He wondered, in fact, what it would feel like, that skin, under his fingers…

Harry shook himself, a little shocked at the nature of his thoughts. He wasn't one to ogle or objectify women, as a rule. He persuaded himself that wasn't what he was doing now, either. All he was doing was appreciating beauty. Which was perfectly acceptable, surely. Nevertheless, he thought it about time he tore his eyes away and paid proper attention to whatever it was Sir stuffed-tailored-shirt was saying.

Adam passed with a tray of full champagne glasses, and Harry deftly swapped his empty for a fresh one. As he did so, he couldn't help glancing in the woman's direction one last time. It looked as if her conversation was finally drawing to a close. She was shaking the aide's hand, preparing to leave him. Something like excitement twinged momentarily in Harry's stomach as he realised that she was going to turn around, and he'd be able to see her face. Murmuring something in response to a question he'd been asked, Harry raised the champagne flute to his lips and took a mouthful, using the action as an excuse to keep his eyes on the woman as she turned around.

Harry sucked in a breath so fast that the champagne hit the back of his throat, choking him. He coughed, almost spitting his drink all over Sir Shirts-and-ties, who took a bemused step back. _Ruth!_ What the _hell_ was she doing here? Looking like _that_? What… _What?_

Adam appeared at Harry's elbow with a frown. "Sir?" He asked, "Are you alright?"

Harry nodded, still unable to speak. "Fine," he managed, after a moment, "Fine…"

Adam handed him a napkin, which Harry held to his mouth as his breathing returned to normal. The Section D head met his agent's eyes with what he hoped was a clear question, but Adam seemed oblivious.

"I'll just get you some water, sir."

Harry wiped his mouth as Adam retreated. Sir Green had already moved on. People who had turned their heads at his coughing fit had already forgotten the incident, and resumed whatever it was they were doing. Harry stood alone in the crowd, still slightly stunned. He looked around for Ruth, but she'd vanished.

[TBC]


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Yet another short bit. I know this has been a bit lack-lustre so far, so I will do my best to punch it up a bit from now on. Which will possibly mean veering away from humour, though hopefully not too far. Thanks for reading! The reviews really are _very_ much appreciated.

**-X-**

Ruth had headed to the ladies' room after finishing her conversation with Marco. She had to admit that she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. Somehow, pretending to be someone else entirely – disguising even her voice – had made everything much easier. That especially went for the dress, which she had realised could only really be carried off with a certain attitude. It was an attitude that Ruth had decided her alter ego for the evening – Lucia – had in plentiful supply.

As Lucia, it didn't matter that she was tiny even when she stood on tip-toe, or that she was now most definitely the wrong side of 35. It didn't matter that at home, there were only cats to rue her staying out late. And it didn't matter – at all – that all her daydreams were of a man whom she frequently bemused with expansive surplus information and who would probably forget her if she were to ever actually take a holiday for a few days. No – tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, she was Lucia, she was wearing a killer dress, and she'd just had a very long conversation with the kind of man she'd always assumed would never even notice her if she were to pass him on the street. Best of all, there hadn't been anything that could even remotely constitute a national emergency. And she hadn't seen Harry at all.

The latter fact was the source of both relief and, if she was honest with herself, disappointment. Relief because Ruth wasn't sure the façade of Lucia could withstand the vagaries of her Harry problem at close quarters. And disappointment because she couldn't help wondering what his reaction would be – to this Ruth, to this dress…

Ruth sighed and leaned over the sink to reapply her lipstick. _Who are you kidding?_ She asked herself. _He wouldn't even notice. And if he did, he'd probably be appalled._ No, to Harry Pearce, she was the bookish analyst in the darkened corner of the Grid, and he'd never see her as anything more.

An echoing burst of gunfire rang out in the distance, followed by harsh shouts and piercing screams. Ruth jumped, dropping her lipstick, the paste scraping an incongruous smudge of colour along the white porcelain of the sink as it rolled into the plughole. She froze, listening. A second passed, then another. The shouts and screams continued, but there was no more gunfire. Ruth looked around – the bathroom was empty apart for her – and self-consciously touched a finger to her ear.

"Gunfire," she said quietly, into the silence of the bathroom. "Control, this is Alpha two. I heard gunfire… Sounded like a burst from a semi-automatic."

She looked around the bathroom. There was an air vent on the ceiling in one corner, but otherwise the only way out was the door she'd entered through. Outside, the screams had quieted slightly, but the shouting continued. Was that one voice? Two?

"I'm going to investigate," she said. "I don't know where Alpha one is. Or… or Harry… I'm in the bathroom. Alone. Standby…"

Ruth took a deep breath. Adrenaline was coursing through her, making her heart pound. But this eventuality was why she was here. It was her job to go out there, get whatever information she could…

She opened the door. The bathroom she was using was in a corridor off the foyer, a couple of hundred yards from the main ballroom. Ruth had tried to use one closer, but it had been busy. Here, though, there was no sign of anyone. She stepped out into the dim hallway, looking left and right – and stopped dead.

A figure was standing at the end of the hallway, half-illuminated by light from the foyer beyond. It was Harry. He had his back to her, and was peering cautiously around the corner. She started to walk toward him. He turned his head and saw her, immediately waving her back. He must have known where she was. He wanted her to return to the bathroom.

Ruth hesitated. Harry was here as a guest, not an operative, which meant he wasn't wired, whereas she was. Surely she had a responsibility to relay what was happening to the Grid.

A second later, the decision was taken out of her hands. She saw the muzzle of an assault rifle appear, levelled at Harry's head, followed swiftly by a tall man dressed all in black. His face was uncovered, and steely. He looked past Harry, straight at her.

"You," he said, with a thick foreign accent. "Come here. Now. Try to run, and I'll kill you both."

[TBC]

Can't remember who said it, but a writer was once quoted as saying that when the pace in his novels slipped, he always had a gun go off. It was possibly Chandler. I figured I'd give it a go.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Another little bit to keep it rolling. I have, of course, written myself into a corner by not making the communication device in Ruth's ear two-way. Ah well. Challenges are good…

**-X- **

The gunman hustled them both in front of him. Ruth assumed he'd take them back to the ballroom, but instead he forced them towards a smaller ante-chamber. He pushed them through the double doors and stepped in behind them. Inside was a group of other guests, dotted around the room – some sitting on chairs, others on the floor.

Still with his gun levelled at them, their captor pulled a radio out of his pocket and keyed the dial. A second later, he spoke into it, rattling off a question in his native language. Ruth frowned, listening. A second later, he got the reply he was waiting for, and immediately dropped the radio back in his pocket.

"You," he said, indicating Ruth, roughly. "What jewellery do you have?"

She shook her head. "Nothing very much," she replied, in a flawless Umbrian accent. "Just my grandmother's ring. It is not worth money…"

The gunman laid his hand out, palm up. "Give it to me."

"No, please…"

He swung the gun toward her until it was level with her stomach. Ruth flinched, and Harry stepped in front of her, hands raised toward the gunman in placatory fashion.

"Okay," Harry said, calmly. "It's okay. Here, take my watch. And cufflinks."

Ruth watched as Harry divested himself of his valuables. Then he looked over his shoulder at her. "Please," he appealed to her, softly.

She pulled the ring from her finger. It was Victorian, set with a large faceted garnet. It was only rolled gold, hardly worth anything at all, but she treasured it. Her hand shook with rage and fear as she dropped it into Harry's palm. He passed it to the gunman.

"And your telephones."

They duly handed over their mobiles. The gunman scanned the room again and then left, shutting the door with a snap. A second later, they heard the key turn in the lock.

As soon as the gunman had gone, the rest of the guests – apart from several who were too shocked to move – gathered around Ruth and Harry.

"They've taken everything from us of value," said one portly British man. "This is clearly a robbery."

Ruth saw Harry frown, casting his eye around the room. He was probably thinking the same thing she was. Why separate the guests if it was just a robbery?

"The gunman – he was speaking in Basque," she said, loud enough for both Harry and whoever was monitoring her feed back on the Grid to hear.

"Really?" said the same man, with surprise. "Is that significant?"

Ruth didn't look at Harry, thinking it was probably better to maintain her cover. "If they are Basque," she said, her accent purring over the word, "then perhaps this could be ETA?"

There was a pause, and then Harry spoke. "It'd be unusual for them to do anything outside their own territory."

"Then perhaps they have a specific agenda in mind," she suggested, looking Harry in the eye for the first time. "It is strange that robbers would divide us up, yes? Perhaps they are looking for something. For someone."

"Yes," Harry agreed.

Ruth looked around. "How many people are here?" she asked the woman standing closest to her.

"S-seventeen," the woman said, clearly terrified. "Or at least, there were. With you two, now there are nineteen."

"Nineteen of us," Ruth repeated, again for the Grid to hear. She could feel Harry's eyes on her. He must know what she was doing. She turned on her heel, surveying the room itself. "This is not a big room, is it? What would you say – eighteen feet by eighteen feet?"

"About that, yes," said Harry.

"…with two doors. One in the east wall, one in the west. The west must connect to the ballroom, I think?"

"What on earth does that matter?" asked the man who had spoken first. "Both of them are locked, we've already checked."

Ruth smiled. She could imagine Malcolm right now, frantically bringing up the blueprints to the building, working out where they were. "Just – how do you call it? Thinking aloud."

The man nodded, and moved away. Harry stepped closer to her. She looked up at him, and saw something indefinable in his eyes. Surprise? Respect? She could live with either of those.

"What's your name?" He asked, and she herself was surprised by the warmth in his voice.

"Lucia," she said, adding the correct inflection to the 'c'. "Lucia Russo. And you?"

"Harry Pearce." He held out a hand, and she placed hers in his. "And how exactly did you get caught up in this mess, Lucia?"

Ruth blinked, realising that it was a genuine question. _He didn't know I was going to be here. _

"I am an aide," she said. "To the Italian Foreign Minister. I do not usually travel with him, but his assistant was… ill…"

Harry nodded, and something softened in his eyes. He swept his thumb over the back of her hand before letting go. "Ah. I see. I am sorry – that you are here. And for your ring. Come and sit down. I'm not sure there's anything useful we can do for the moment."

He reached out his arm to guide her, and his fingers momentarily brushed over the bare skin of her back. Ruth jumped, and Harry dropped his hand.

"Sorry," he said, "I didn't-"

"No, really, I do not–" Ruth cut herself off. She couldn't think of any elegant way to end that sentence. So she didn't.

[TBC]


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** A very, very short bit. I'll try to update again later today. Hope everyone's having a lovely weekend!

**-X-**

Harry clenched the hand that had brushed against her as they headed for a couple of unoccupied chairs. He forced himself not to let his eyes wander down the length of Ruth's naked skin as she walked in front of him, not to watch the sinuous play of her muscles beneath that soft skin as she moved. _Think of her as she is on the Grid_, he told himself silently, through clenched teeth_. All those long skirts and shapeless blouses and thick tights…_

Unfortunately, that didn't have the desired effect. One tiny touch of that skin and a riot against reason had broken out in his mind. He couldn't help finding it incredibly arousing to imagine this exquisite Ruth hidden beneath the clothes she usually bundled herself up in for work. Ready to be revealed if someone were to…

Harry shocked himself for the second time that evening, and over the same cause. Here they were in the middle of a hostage situation, and he was thinking completely inappropriate thoughts about a young woman under his command. She, on the other hand, had shown an exemplary ability to clamp down on her fear and do her job in difficult circumstances. He'd been as impressed by Ruth's quick thinking and fortitude as he was enchanted by the accent and persona she had adopted. And apart from a niggling, guilty wish that Ruth was out of harm's way, Harry no longer wished it were the more field-experienced Jo here instead. He doubted that anyone else would have pinned those few brief words barked by the gunman as Basque. He hoped that as a result, the Grid was already halfway to finding a connection to something that could end this whole sorry situation.

He sat down beside Ruth. She arranged herself elegantly, back straight, legs crossed, the black silk of her dress cascading to the floor to hide her small feet. Harry could see her mind working as she looked around the room. As she turned her head, he saw something glinting in her hair.

"You're lucky the gunman didn't see that," he said, indicating the jewelled hairpin. "He'd have taken it, too."

Ruth frowned, uncomprehending as she reached up and touched her hair. Realisation crossed her face, followed by a brief second of panic.

"It is… worthless, just a costume piece," she said.

"Didn't stop him taking your ring."

She nodded. "Very true. This, though… it does hold more worth for me. At the moment. It was… a recent gift from a very valued friend… He specifically wanted me to wear it tonight."

Harry understood her immediately. He'd wondered where the listening device she must be wearing was hidden. The pin must be the transmitter, the companion device to the microphone in her ear. If it were to be removed or damaged…

"Perhaps you should take it off. Conceal it elsewhere? Somewhere it cannot be seen?"

There was a slightly embarrassed pause as they both looked her over. There was no way Ruth was going to be able to conceal anything in that dress. Harry saw the tint of a blush in her cheeks and stood up, shrugging off his jacket.

"Here," he said, holding it up. "Wear this. Put the pin in one of my pockets."

Ruth stood, smiling. "Thank you, Mr Pearce. You are very kind."

"It's Harry. Please."

She turned so he could help her on with the jacket. Harry took a breath as he slipped it up her arms, his knuckles sliding once more over her skin. Ruth turned back, looking up at him with a smile. "Harry," she said, softly. "I think I may have an idea."

[TBC]


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Again, another very short bit. Sorry. Thanks for sticking with it despite the slow burn (if you are!).

Also, big love to Rosettaston3. Sometimes you 'meet' people online who just make you smile and who you are glad to know exist, even if they're on the other side of the planet, because the world is surely a better place with them in it. You are definitely one of them…

**-X-**

Ruth couldn't quell the faint thrill that quivered down to her marrow as she pulled Harry's jacket around her. It was still warm from his own wearing of it, and as she returned to her seat, his aftershave drifted to her from the collar. She breathed in, shutting her eyes for a second, enjoying this scent, which was so familiar and yet somehow, now, so illicit. It was like being physically enveloped by him. The thought made every nerve in her body spark with sensation, as if the touch of his fingers on her skin hadn't been enough.

Guilt washed over her a moment later. How could she allow herself to be so distracted when they were in such a position? And when Adam was God only knew where? Unforgiveable. The thought of what Harry would say if he knew how far her mind had wandered from their present predicament was enough to pour a figurative jug of cold water down her spine. She cleared her throat as he returned to his seat beside her.

"I believe we must get out of this room," Ruth said, grateful once again for the refuge of Lucia. "There is nothing that can be done from in here. It would be good to discover exactly how many groups the guests are held in, and how many these gunmen count among them. And I… am worried about the staff. I think we need to locate them. Perhaps they are being held somewhere together."

She saw Harry's mouth twitch into a smile, and she was relieved to see that he knew she was talking about Adam. "I think the staff would think that a good idea, too."

"I have also been thinking about how we might receive word from outside," she went on, glancing over her shoulder. There were several guests sitting close by, though no-one appeared to be listening to them, at least not deliberately. "I think there must be a lot of information we are not in possession of, yes?"

"Yes." Harry was still smiling. Ruth wished he wouldn't, or at least, not when he was looking so directly at her. It was playing havoc with her concentration, and if the Grid were to have a chance of understanding what she was trying to tell them, she needed to focus.

"We need a sign," she said, voice low and clear.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "A sign would be good."

"Though there is none in this room," Ruth went on, "I believe there may perhaps be one in the foyer outside?"

A frown flickered across Harry's face. He didn't understand what she meant, but Ruth hoped to God that Malcolm did. The building they were in held conferences of all descriptions, and frequently more than one at once. There was an electronic display in the foyer – she'd noticed it when she'd first arrived. It had blinked with short messages that most people probably hadn't even noticed – things like room numbers, adverts for upcoming events and the cafes that were spread between the floors. At one point even the outside temperature had crawled across its blinking surface. If she could get out of this room and in view of that display, the Grid should be able to manipulate it, even if it was only briefly. It wouldn't be the first time they'd used such technology.

"If we can find out where the staff are," she repeated, "And perhaps what the general thinking is elsewhere…"

Harry nodded. Even if he didn't understand everything she'd said, he was obviously happy to trust her judgement. "Very well. As for getting out of this room – I'm not sure that's going to be very easy at all."

"I believe that will be down to me," Ruth said. "I think I should be able to attract the gunman's attention the next time he returns."

"Lucia," frowned Harry. "Though your willingness to put yourself in the line of fire is admirable – I have to tell you, I'm not sure that these are the type of men to be distracted by a beautiful woman. Not at the moment, anyway."

Ruth blinked. _Did he just…? Was that him calling me…? _She looked away, speechless for a moment. "I… oh, no, Harry, you misunderstand," Ruth said, when she could find Lucia's voice. "I do not only understand Basque, you see. I also speak it. Not fluently, but enough to hold a conversation. I imagine that would attract their attention. Do you not agree?"

[TBC]


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** – Sorry for the brief length and lack of interest in this piece. Just had to get them out of that bloody room… PLOT FAIL. Will try to update again later with more interesting stuff. And fluff. This was _supposed_ to be all about the fluff…

**-X-**

They didn't have long to wait until the gunman returned. This time he was with a second man, who wore dark glasses. Behind them, his face was etched with anger and distrust. The second man slung his gun over his shoulder as the first stood by the door with his weapon primed.

"All of you," he barked to the captives, in an equally thick accent. "On the floor, now. Kneel. Hands behind your heads."

There were a few whimpers of fear as the guests did as they were told. Harry's knees protested slightly as he dropped to the floor beside Ruth, and raised his arms. The second man began to move between the guests, but only seemed interested in the women. He had something in his hand. As he reached each woman, he forced her to lift her head and held his hand out, apparently comparing the face in front of him to whatever was in his hand. A photograph? If so, Ruth's assessment was right – they were looking for someone.

Whoever it was, she didn't appear to be in the room with them. Their captor worked their way around the room, but didn't single any of the women present out. When he reached Ruth, he only glanced at her briefly, and hardly consulted his reference image at all. Harry felt an irrational relief settling around his shoulders. She obviously didn't look at all like their target.

"_Nor zara bila ari zu?"_

It was Ruth's voice, speaking in a language that sounded vaguely like Spanish, but that Harry didn't understand. The gunman, who had turned away, froze. A moment later, he swung back around, slipping the gun from his back. He stepped close to Ruth, pressing the barrel into her temple. Harry instinctively made as if to move toward her, but the gunman hissed at him.

"Stay where you are. Move, and I'll shoot her dead. You," he said, to Ruth, "You speak Basque?"

"N-not very well," she replied, looking up at him. Her face was pale with dread.

"What have you heard?" the man demanded, before looking over his shoulder, toward his companion, who still guarded the door. "What have you said that she may have understood?"

His companion shook his head, as Ruth said, "Nothing. I have heard nothing. I only-"

"How do speak my language? You do not look Basque."

"No," Ruth replied, keeping Lucia's accent, "I am Italian. My – my maternal grandmother. She was from San Sebastian. Look, perhaps I can help you…"

The gunman flexed his finger on the trigger, and Harry's stomach plummeted as Ruth flinched. He could see the tears in her eyes – she was terrified.

"Stand," the gunman said. "Now."

Ruth struggled to her feet, hands still behind her head.

"Wait," Harry said, standing too. "Please. She was trying to help you. What are you-"

Their captor turned on him. "Who are you? Do you speak Basque, too?"

"No one," said Ruth, before Harry could answer. "He is no one. Just a businessman I met here tonight. He knows nothing."

The gunman grinned unpleasantly. "I am not sure I believe you. Both of you, move – now."

Harry did as he was told.

[TBC]


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm just going to come clean and say (in case you haven't already realised) that I'm really just flying by the seat of my pants with this one. I only began this because of a scene I have in my head, which I can't write until the end of this story. But I wish I hadn't started, because I haven't thought it out enough and it's in danger of horribly falling apart. I'm also writing it at 100 miles an hour. Sorry. I'll try to salvage it, but you might want to give up now!

**-X-**

Ruth tried to force herself into a state of calm as they were hustled through the door and into the foyer. She immediately saw four other men – three gathered in the middle of the wide corridor and another outside another opposite the anteroom where they had been held. Surely there must be others, elsewhere? For an operation this size, six men could not possibly be enough, could it?

The three men broke off their conversation and turned when Ruth, Harry and the two gunmen appeared. She caught a few words in Basque, along the lines of "What the hell are you doing?" and "She's not the one," before the man that had held her at gunpoint made a slicing motion with his hand across his throat to silence them. He left his companion to guard them while he moved closer, lowering his voice.

Ruth looked up at the display. It was still scrolling as if nothing had untoward had happened, red letters blinking incessantly. _Come on, Malcolm, _she prayed. _Give us something… Quickly…_

She was beginning to think that he hadn't understood her message, when she saw it. She glanced at Harry, eyes wide, and saw his almost imperceptible nod.

Room A1 now FREE… blurted the sign, followed by DIVERTed to kitchen… Go to Room A2 to PREPARE for an excellent meal… SOON

They hardly had time to register the message before an explosion sounded somewhere below their feet, from what Ruth assumed was the direction of the kitchen. The four men in front of them started, and then began shouting, running toward the source of the noise, disappearing down the wide stairs that led to the floor below. Even before Ruth had time to react, Harry had spun on his feel, slamming his foot into their gunman's knee. He crumpled forward as Harry punched his fist into the man's nose, simultaneously grabbing the semi-automatic. Ruth screamed as a burst of gunfire stabbed toward them from across the room. Harry brought the gun up and sprayed it at the guard standing outside the second anteroom, felling him before he had chance to fire again.

Harry reached for her, grabbing Ruth's hand. "Run," he shouted.

He dragged her back toward the corridor in which they had both been taken, this time rushing past the ladies' room, heading deeper into the office part of the complex. Harry let go of her hand and began trying various doors. Ruth followed his example.

"Phone," hissed Harry, "We need a phone…"

At last one of the doors opened. They crashed inside, Harry pushing the door shut behind them and turning the key. He remained standing, looking out of the small glass porthole as Ruth rushed to the desk, ducking behind it and pulling the telephone with her. She dialled the Grid emergency number.

"Control, Alpha Two," she said breathlessly, when Malcolm's voice answered. "Tell us what's going on."

"Thank God. We heard the gunfire – thought you two were goners," said Malcolm. "This is ETA all right. They're there to abduct Calida de las Mercedes. She's the new girlfriend of Spain's first son. They've bungled it, though – not prepared enough."

"What do you mean?"

"That place is too big and they didn't shut it down fast enough. Plenty of the guests got out during their first onslaught. Including the girl."

"Where are CO19?"

"On standby – but no one wants to give the attack order until we can locate the remaining guests. You've told us where some of them are, but there are still 60 unaccounted for."

"What's Adam doing?"

"He managed to avoid detection. He's trying to locate the other guests."

"Some are being held in another small room opposite the one we were in," Ruth said, speaking quietly. "I don't know how many. What can we-"

There was the sudden sound of running, accompanied by several shouts and a series of bangs – someone banging on a door. Harry ducked away from the window, running toward her with his head low. Ruth dropped the phone as he pulled her up and pushed her into a gap created between a large filing cabinet and the north-east corner of the wall. Harry crushed himself against her, pulling her close, the gun pressed against her leg. She pressed her face against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut. Her hands bunched into fists, holding on to his shirt. His left arm was curled around her, over his jacket. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel Harry's heart hammering.

The shouts and bangs got closer. She tensed, and Harry moved in response, rubbing his hand up and down her back, trying to reassure her. Fists pounded against the glass of their office door so hard that the wall shook, and hands tugged at the handle - but the door didn't budge.

They seemed to be there forever, but eventually the noises faded into the distance. Ruth was shaking, still holding fast to Harry's shirt. He moved back a fraction, looking down at her before lifting his hand to smooth her mussed hair back from her face before curling his arm around her again.

"Alright?" He asked, softly, so close that his breath washed over her face.

She nodded, still shaking. "Yes. CO19 won't come in until they know where the civilians are being held. Adam's out there-"

"Okay. Well, at least I'm armed, now. I'll talk to Malcolm, get him to talk me through an alternative route. I want you to wait until I've left, lock the door behind me, and then stay in this corner until this is over."

Ruth frowned. "I can't do that. I can't sit here and do nothing. This is _my_ assignment."

"Ruth, you're a desk officer. You're not trained for this. Adam and I will handle it."

She shook her head, indignant now. "No. I won't do it. It'll be easier with three of us. They're obviously already out of their depth. We can use that."

Ruth suddenly realised Harry was still holding her against him. Every breath she took pressed against his ribcage. His face was close, his eyes intense as he stared down at her.

"T-there's an air vent," she stuttered. In the ladies' bathroom on this c-corridor. I saw it when I was in there earlier. It'll give us access…"

Harry seemed to collect himself as she spoke, stepping backwards. And letting her go. Ruth felt a sudden chill as his body left hers, and had to stop herself reaching for him. She shook herself. _What are you thinking?_

"All right," Harry whispered. "But if you see a chance to get out of this building, I want you to take it. Understand?"

She nodded, dumbly, with no intention of doing anything of the sort. Harry looked her up and down as he picked up the discarded telephone. "You'll ruin your dress," he muttered.

Ruth shrugged. "It's not mine. It's either Adam's or Zaf's. One of them bought it."

Harry stared at her for a second longer, before a fraction of a smile tugged at his mouth. And then Malcolm was back on the line.

[TBC]


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** The plot fairy visited me last night. Well, I say last night - it was actually at 5am this morning, the minx. But I think I know where I'm going with this now, so woo and indeed, hoo. Another miniature bit…

**-X-**

In the event, they didn't need to hoist themselves into the air duct. Harry was relieved – he was pretty sure they weren't built for men of his size. Malcolm supplied them with the numerical code for the series of keypads that secured a route from the office area down to the kitchens. From there, they could quite literally slip below the hostage-takers and come up the other side. Adam was trying to find a way to ascertain how many of the remaining guests were in the second room that Ruth had described. Harry and Ruth were to provide backup and cover where they could.

Ruth shed his jacket before they left the room. "I can't move quickly in it," she said. "It's too bulky."

Harry tried not to notice the sudden re-emergence of her skin. He was already trying to deal with the memory of her slim body pressed against his. He'd held on to her too long, transfixed by her fear and the wideness of her eyes. "Don't forget the transmitter," he told her. "We still need it."

She took it from his pocket, sliding it over the edge of the fabric above the cowl at her chest. It glinted, though nowhere near as brightly as her. Harry took a deep breath before he opened the door, wishing he was leaving Ruth behind, in the relative safety of this spot. Something had happened over the course of this crisis. She'd gone from being a colleague that had sparked his interest to something more profound. He'd always known she was smart as mustard, had always found her eyes beautiful, had always laughed at her wit. But now… now, even without probing it too deeply, he knew her loss would hurt. And he already carried enough loss to last for several lifetimes.

They slipped out of the door and turned left, moving deeper into the office complex and further away from the occupied area. Turning right into a narrower, darker corridor, they came to the first security door, perfectly according to Malcolm's directions. Harry hung back, gun primed, as Ruth entered the number on the keypad. The door beeped and swung open. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

They moved quickly through the remaining locked doors, finally reaching a flight of narrow access stairs that led down to the kitchen. Below, it was hot – Harry realised the air conditioning had been turned off. It was dark, too, only emergency lighting illuminating the slippery tiled floors. They negotiated three adjoining rooms, listening intently for any sign of their attackers, Harry leading the way with Ruth close on his heels.

They were almost in sight of their second set of stairs when Ruth's footsteps stopped behind him. He turned to find her frozen in place, head turned toward a narrow passage between a row of chiller cabinets. She looked back at him. She'd heard something.

Harry moved forward, then advanced along the passage, making sure Ruth stayed behind him. There was a skittering of movement ahead, the sound of someone scrambling. His finger flexed on the trigger, his heart rate ticking up into a race.

The passage suddenly opened up into a wider space, lined with shelves – a pantry. Harry lowered the gun immediately, raising one hand in reassurance.

"It's okay," he said. "We're security services."

A group of about ten guests were huddled against the far wall. They relaxed a little as Harry spoke.

"Are we safe?" One of them asked. "Is it over?"

"Almost," Ruth said, from her place beside him. Harry glanced over, seeing her warm smile. "You did well to find this place."

"Can we come out?"

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. Stay here, you should be safe enough. Keep as quiet as you can."

He went to move on, back up the passage, but Ruth held back. "Does one of you have a mobile phone?" she asked.

"There's no signal down here," said one of the guests, proffering his."

Harry watched Ruth take it, humbled again by her focus. "Thank you," he told the phone's owner. "We'll take care of it."

They headed for the stairs.

[TBC]


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Okay, so it wasn't the plot fairy, it was the flu fairy. Sob. So today I am laid up in bed, and thus will be finishing this. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. You make me smile. And in the case of gottalovett, make me giggle. A lot. In fact, her 'handy H/R tips' are the only reason I haven't discarded this completely!

**-X-**

The gunfire began before they'd even got to the top of the stairs. Harry dropped immediately, dragging Ruth down with him. He quickly realised that the bullets weren't meant for them – someone else was exchanging fire from the other side of the foyer. He raised his head above the scant protection of the top step, and saw Adam embattled with two gunmen. The MI5 officer is crouched behind the large, decorated tree, its heavy pot providing him cover. Harry could see another body lying between Adam's hiding place and the centre of the hallway – their assailants were another man down.

Harry squeezed off a volley of shots in the direction of their attackers. There was a low yell of pain and shock as the weapon found its target. The man he'd hit slumped to the ground.

"Give it up!" Adam shouted from the other side of the foyer. "You're outnumbered and surrounded. There's no where to go!"

Harry saw Adam gesture with his hand. He wanted Harry to cover him. Harry nodded, bringing the gun up to his shoulder. Adam moved slowly around the tree.

Behind him, he heard Ruth talking on the phone – she must have found a signal.

"Malcolm, send CO19 in – there's only one gunman here. There's no sign of the guests. It won't be difficult to-"

Harry saw the gunman move a fraction too late. The sound of gunfire filled the air once again, and in the middle of it, Adam's legs were taken out from under him. Harry heard himself yell as he stood to get a better shot, silencing the last gunman with a final burst. Harry was up and running before his body had even hit the floor.

"Adam's hit," he shouted over his shoulder. "Get an ambulance. Now!"

He scrambled to Adam's side, dropping his weapon, relieved to see that the younger man was conscious. A bullet had struck his thigh. Harry ripped at the fabric to get a clearer look at the wound.

"It's a through-and-though," he said. "And it's through muscle, not bone. You'll be fine."

"Great," said Adam. "That's just… great."

"Did you see any other gunmen?"

Adam shook his head, grimacing in pain. "I shot two upstairs. What with the guy you took out and these three jokers – I think they were the only ones. They were totally out of their depth, Harry."

"Upstairs? What were they doing up there?"

"No idea. There was a safe in one of the office walls – maybe they were trying to open it."

Harry heard a sound, and turned to see Ruth opening the door of the anteroom opposite the one in which they had been held. She held the phone to her ear again as shocked guests streamed out.

"Did you locate any more pockets of civilians?" Harry asked, "Or are these the only ones?"

"There was a small group upstairs," Adam told him, "but I managed to get them out via the balcony in the ballroom." He shrugged painfully at Harry's incredulous expression. "Like I said, these guys were way out of their depth. It was like a university stunt gone wrong, or something."

Behind him came the sound of booted feet – CO19, finally arriving. Harry patted Adam on the shoulder and stood to speak to their commander.

"Get these people out of here," he said. "The threat's been neutralised, this is now a clean-up operation."

The commander nodded, turning to bark a few orders to his men. They began leading the bewildered guests from the building and into the cold air. A moment later an ambulance crew arrived and lifted Adam onto a gurney.

"Some Christmas party this turned out to be," Adam grumbled. "I didn't even get to see Ruth in action in that dress."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That was your doing, was it?"

Adam attempted a grin. "Blame Zaf. He's always wondering what she's hiding under all those layers…"

Harry glanced toward the woman in question, who was making her way toward him through the throng of confused guests. Her elegant bun had almost completely disintegrated, her hair floating in glorious abandon around her shoulders. Her dress was crumpled. But she was still quite the most stunning thing he'd seen in a long, long time.

"Remind me to buy Zaf a drink," he muttered to Adam, before the ambulance crew wheeled him away.

Ruth came to stand in front of him, raising a hand to wave at Adam. "He's okay?"

Harry nodded. "He's fine. Lucky so-and-so." And then, when she looked up at him, shocked, he explained, "It's not a major injury but it'll need recovery time. So Adam gets a nice long rest – right over Christmas. With Fiona there to look after him."

Ruth was watching Adam disappear from view as she retorted, "Harry, not even you could turn being shot into a blessing."

He smiled, watching her face. "Oh, I don't know. Anything can be a blessing if it means spending time with a beautiful woman. Especially one you love."

She blinked, still not looking at him, but before either of them could say anything else, the mobile rang. Ruth looked down a the number flashing on it's surface before flicking it open. "It's Malcolm."

He could hear Malcolm's voice before the phone even reached her ear. He was shouting, frantic. Ruth's eyes widened as she stared up at Harry. "A bomb – there's been a bomb threat. Here. Harry-"

He grabbed the phone from her. "Malcolm. What is it?"

"_They've left a bomb. This wasn't what we thought it was at all."_

Harry stared at Ruth. "How long? Where is it?"

"_I don't know – but we've got less than ten minutes. Clear out of there, Harry – get everyone out, now."_

"If I can find it, can you talk me through it?"

"_What? You must be joking!"_

"I'm not," he said. "We can't let something of this size happen this close to Christmas, not in the centre of London. The morale – the economy would never stand it."

"_Harry, there's no time!"_

"I think I know where it is." He was moving, heading for the flight of stairs that led up to the second floor. "I'll call you when I get there. Be ready, Malcolm." He flicked shut the phone. "Ruth, get out of here. That's an order – now."

"Harry-"

"Don't argue, Ruth, just do it."

"I can't – the last guests – the group in the basement. They're still there!"

"Let CO19-"

"They'll never make it. But I'm _here_."

Ruth turned and ran for the other flight of steps, the ones leading down into the darkened kitchen.

"Ruth!"

She turned to look at him, and her eyes held as much tumult as an ocean. Something shot between them, startlingly new and as old as earth. And then she was gone.

[TBC]


	12. Chapter 12

**-X-**

Harry saw where Adam's earlier triumph had occurred as soon as he reached the top of the stairs. Down the corridor to his right, two bodies lay slumped in an open doorway. He ran toward them, flicking open the phone again and dialing the Grid.

Malcolm answered as Harry entered the room and reached the smashed safe. Sure enough, as he suspected, inside stood a device that held enough menace to make his blood run cold.

"Malcolm, I've got it."

_"Describe it to me."_

Harry looked it over, breathing hard. "Two clear cylinders, both full of liquid. They're in a frame, with a third metal canister at one end."

The voice on the phone cursed. _"It's a chemical bomb. Tell me about the timer."_

"It's attached to the canister. Digital display." He swallowed, reaching up to wipe his brow. "It's counting down from four minutes. Looks like your threat might have been over-generous with its timing."

Malcolm swore. _"Harry, I don't think-"_

"Tell me what to do, Malcolm, and quickly."

There was a fraction of a pause. "Place the device on a flat surface."

Harry turned, and in one sweeping movement, dislodged everything that stood on the large desk dominating the space before lifting the bomb out of the safe. He transferred the call to speakerphone, dropping the phone on the desk, too.

"Speed it up, Malcolm."

"_Alright. The timer will be attached to a trigger designed to break the division between the two liquids. They'll then combine in the metal canister. The subsequent explosion will be immense. So you've got to-"_

"…remove the trigger. Right."

"_Can you detach the timer?" _

Harry bent closer to the device. "I need something sharp. Something…" He moved, scrabbling among the debris from the desk and coming up with a letter opener. Harry slotted it into a groove between the two cylinders and the timer, working it back and forth. All the while, the numbers on the digital dial were ticking down, mocking him. He felt breathless, desperate.

"Did Ruth get out? She went down to the kitchen."

"_Harry…"_

"Tell me!"

"_Not yet."_

"She's got to get out, Malcolm. She's-"

"_Harry – focus. Focus, and you might both get out. Lose it, and you'll both die. Focus!"_

Harry nodded, for no one to see. Suddenly the timer casing sprang free, though wires still connected it to the bomb. Beneath was what looked like a sharp metal hook-and-spring device.

"This looks bloody archaic!"

"_Don't underestimate it. It's old, but it's virtually fool-proof. Remove the trigger. But don't detach it completely – it'll be rigged. And don't fracture the cylinders, you'll be dead in seconds."_

The timer read 1:30. "I'm not far off that anyway," Harry muttered.

His fingers were nowhere near as steady or as nimble as they used to be. He struggled with the too-wide letter opener. _Don't have the right equipment, don't have enough time, don't have the know-how…_

The timer passed the minute mark. Malcolm's voice spoke into the silence of the room.

_"Harry, Ruth's clear. She got them all out. She's beyond the perimeter now. She's safe."_

Harry smiled.

[TBC]


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Beware of slight raunch… Step away now if you don't like that kind of thing, thankyouplease.

Also, hope you're not too confused by the beginning. No, you haven't missed anything. Think jump-cut.

**-X-**

It was cold outside. The air was full of flashing lights, blue and red bursts mingling in the crystal-clear night. Harry breathed in, feeling the heat of his brow turn chill. He looked around at the gathered crowds of people – the guests they had released, law enforcement, journalists, photographers. He couldn't see Ruth anywhere. He wondered if she'd returned to the Grid. He was suddenly tired – bone, _bone _tired.

"Harry!" He turned to see Zaf jogging toward him, a grin on his face. "That was a close one."

Harry nodded, wiping one weary hand over his face. "It was, rather. I thought Malcolm was going to hyperventilate."

"Looks like we should turn you back into a field officer," his agent told him. "That was a great job."

Harry shook his head. "That was most definitely my swansong. Anyway, Ruth did most of the hard work. Have you seen her?"

"Yes. She's a bit shaken up, but she's okay. She took a walk in the garden." Zaf pointed at the lawn that disappeared around one side of the old building. "I think she really thought that was curtains for you, Harry. We all did."

Harry patted Zaf on the shoulder. "It'll take more than a bomb to get rid of me, Mr Younis. Oh, and by the way – I believe I owe you a drink."

A puzzled look passed the younger man's face. "Sorry?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Ask me again some time."

The noise of the rabble faded away as he walked deeper into the garden. It meandered alongside the river – a rare piece of private greenery that went right to the water's edge. Harry stopped to take in the light from the winter moon, casting everything in a silver hue. Beside him loomed the bulk of the building he had just saved from destruction. He looked up at it, and then along the line of lights that described every other building that ran beside and illuminated the Thames. Paris may be beautiful always, but Harry had always thought that nothing surpassed London by night.

Then he saw her. Ruth was standing with her back to him, leaning over the stone parapet that edged the garden above the water. She had re-fettered her hair so that it was once again curled up against her head, her neck bare. He froze, pole-axed, not for the first time, by the sight of her naked back. In the pale, unearthly light, Ruth's skin looked like marble, the curve of her spine as perfectly formed as that of Rodin's woman in The Kiss, though to Harry's eyes, more sensual even than that.

Ruth remained oblivious of his approach until he was at her shoulder. She turned, suddenly, with a tiny intake of breath. They stood, inches apart, staring at each other, and in her face Harry read something far beyond simple relief. He almost reached for her, almost said her name, because apart from the desire bubbling at his core, there was nothing else in his mind. But she stopped him, holding one hand up before he could touch her. She held one finger to her lips. Then she pointed at the hairpin, still clipped to her chest, and then indicated her ear.

_They can hear. _

Harry paused, frustrated, his arms hanging useless at his sides. Ruth stepped forward, silently, until their bodies were almost touching. His heart beat hard, crashing against his chest. If he didn't touch her soon, if he didn't feel that skin… And then she reached up. It took Harry a second to realise what she was doing as her fingers brushed his neck. She flicked up his collar and undid his bowtie, pulling it from around his neck. He breathed more freely as soon as it was gone – _why didn't I do that before?_ – and reached up to undo his top two buttons.

He looked down to see Ruth gazing at the triangle of skin he had revealed. She blinked when she realised he was watching her look at him and, embarrassed, made as if to move away.

Before she could, Harry reached around her, touching her bare skin between her shoulder blades. Ruth's wide eyes grew huge as he began to run his hand down the curve of her spine. She drew in a breath, lips parting as her eyes closed. Harry pressed the thumb of his free hand against her lips to silence her gasp, and Ruth caught it between her teeth, biting down gently as he continued to trace his fingers down her naked back. He reached the thin straps holding her dress in place and continued his long, slow stroke, reveling in the feel of her under his touch, the deeply erotic sight of her teeth nipping the pad of his finger, her lips parted in the darkness. His fingers rose against the curve of her backside, brushing the edge of the silky fabric. Harry followed the seam to the taper, holding his breath. His palm spread against her buttock, and through the soft material, he could feel nothing interrupting the warmth of her skin.

Ruth half-opened her eyes, and in them he saw an unquenchable heat. He leaned towards her, their mouths meeting, hot and wet and silent. Lips parted slowly, deliberately, careful to make no sound. Harry brushed his tongue against hers, pressing her closer with both hands. She melted into him, her every curve instantly marked as indelibly on him as ink. He wanted to kiss her neck, to turn her around and push her against the stone, to kiss where his hands had touched, and where they had not. He wanted to smooth the dress from her shoulders, but he could not bring himself to abandon her lips, and anyway, in all of this he could not promise to stay silent.

"Harry!"

Zaf's voice shattered the cocoon they had wound around themselves. He felt Ruth freeze, tensing against him. Their mouths separated and she turned away so quickly that he could not even read the expression on her face.

"Harry, are you out here? We need you."

His hand flexed toward her, before dropping uselessly to his side. Harry strode away, quickly, putting enough distance between them that his answering shout would not be picked up on the Grid.

"I'm here, Zaf. I'm here."

[TBC]

Okay – so here's the thing. I could finish this and bring it back into canon S4 Spooks. Which would obviously involve angst for our hopeless, hapless couple. Or, I could have it be non-canon, which means it'll be only a little angsty but mostly shippy, happy and Christmassy. Let me know what you'd prefer.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Well, I am back at work today, which means updating is difficult, sorry. Thanks for all your votes – I've decided to do both a fluffy and a canon-version ending to this fic (I hope that works for peeps…) which means I'm not going to finish this as quickly as I intended! Curses and more sorryness. I'm going with the fluffy version first, because I want to. So ner. Thanks to everyone still sticking with me.

**-X-**

Ruth slept naked that night. Her dreams were fevered, full of him, and when she woke it was into Christmas Eve morning. It had snowed overnight, a cold white blanket that deadened sound, but not the heat spiralling around her core.

She had two days off, and was not due back on the Grid until Boxing Day, barring emergencies. Yesterday morning, the thought of those two empty days over Christmas had seemed so interminable that she had considered swapping shifts, but now Ruth was relieved she hadn't. Harry's face swam before her, turning the nerves in her skin flush. She threw back her covers, cold air brushing over her body. It took her back to the garden, to the feel of his warm hands against her chilled skin, to the way he'd looked at her, to the way their mouths had met. Her nipples hardened. She gritted her teeth and turned on her stomach, but that didn't help.

Ruth swallowed hard. She had to get a grip on this, and quickly, because she knew exactly what he'd say if they were ever to broach the subject. Last night had been a crisis, full of unbearable tension and a whole gamut of emotions. It was inevitable that relief would spill over into something else. It didn't mean anything. Ruth herself had read plenty of reports that involved slips of judgement between agents operating in close proximity. In their line of work, when there was no one outside the job with whom to share the pressures of life at MI5, there had to be some kind of vent, however temporary. It was just the first time she'd experienced that extent of emotion, that was all. Harry – Harry would be used to it. Maybe he hadn't been in that situation for a while, but in his day he'd been a prolific field agent. She knew that this is how he would explain away their momentary lapse into insanity. And so she had to prepare herself, because she hadn't been touched like that for so long, and the heat was lingering far longer than it should, and if she wasn't careful she would make a fool of herself.

Sighing, Ruth pushed herself out of bed. It was Christmas Eve, and she had things she could be doing. There was no point giving into illicit daydreams of a man who would not be thinking twice about her, now or ever. She showered and dressed quickly, padding downstairs. Ruth hadn't even had time to decorate her home for the festive season – usually, she always did, even if Christmas Day for her was generally just another excuse to get caught up on paperwork. It wasn't the day she avoided, it was the realisation of her own loneliness that came with it. Decorating the house was in anticipation for an event that held nothing for her but a reminder of the fact that she had no one with whom to share her life. But she loved the lights, the glitter and colour that went with the season.

She had actually ordered a tree, and the company had delivered it yesterday. Ruth had noticed it when she arrived home last night – thank goodness they had had the foresight to cover it in a tarp before leaving it under the window in her tiny front garden. Getting it inside and up would occupy her for a little while, and adding the decorations could be spun out over the rest of the day, as long as she could remember where she'd stowed the box of baubles and lights after taking them down last year…

Ruth fed Fidget and then pulled on Wellingtons and her striped woollen hat before venturing outside into the snow. It was falling hard, the flakes large and soft. They tickled her nose as she hauled the laden tarp from her prone tree and stared at it. Getting it inside was going to be a job and a half, but it wasn't as if she had anything better to do. Sighing, Ruth began to manoeuvre it toward her front door, grasping an armful of damp branches and trying to heft the dead weight. The tree was far too big for her front room – almost as big as Ruth herself. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought, as she almost toppled over under its weight for the third time in as many minutes. She heard an noise behind her, and turned to see Fidget sitting on her top step, watching her curiously, safely out of reach of the snow.

"I don't know what you're looking so smug about," Ruth grumbled aloud, as she lifted the tree once again, hands sticky with sap and with the cold fir greenery tickling her nose. "You could actually come out here and help, you know. Maybe earn your keep for a change."

"I'm not sure she'd be much use anyway," came a softly amused voice, from the bottom of the path.

Ruth jumped, dropping the tree. She turned to see Harry standing just inside her gate, a fond expression on his face. She was immediately assaulted by the memory of his tongue stroking firmly over hers, and burned red.

"I… was going to call," Harry said. "And then… I didn't."

Ruth nodded, trying to find something to say. He was dressed in a blue shirt, open at the neck, a dark blue pullover, and dark overcoat. The falling snow stuck momentarily to his eyelashes before floating to melt against his cheeks. She tore her eyes away and bent down, dragging the tree back into her arms as she tried, unsuccessfully, to find something to say. Harry beat her to it, moving toward her.

"Let me help. I think I might be more use than Fidget."

He took one end, Ruth kept hold of the other, and together they lifted it toward the door. Fidget scattered in their foresty wake and then sat, hissing indignantly, on top of the sideboard.

[TBC]


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Here's the fluff ending. I hope it's not a let-down. Worried it probably will be. I shall get onto the canon one as soon as I can.

Saw _Season's Greetings_ last night, which was wonderfully funny. And then I got home to find a box of my novels on the doorstep, which was nice.

Happy Christmas!

EDIT: Sorry - this should have an 'M-Rated' warning on it!

**-X-**

Harry watched Ruth as they carried the tree indoors. Her cheeks were flushed, from the cold or something else, he couldn't tell. In contrast to last night, she was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans – he didn't think he'd ever seen her in such a thing before. Big green Wellingtons swamped her feet and her hair was covered in a brightly-coloured striped hat which she'd yanked down over her ears. The overall effect was as endearing as her outfit of the previous evening had been tantalising.

But something was amiss. Ruth was avoiding his gaze, and hadn't said anything since he'd offered his help. His heart sank. On his way over to her house, Harry had staunchly ignored the niggle in his mind that had tried to warn him that she may not remember the previous evening with as much relish as he did. Harry hadn't wanted to acknowledge that, or the possibility that what they had begun in that darkened garden would go no further. He wouldn't – couldn't - forget that encounter, and he couldn't imagine regaining the distance at which they had previously stood. Harry saw her almost every day, and yet now even that didn't seem enough.

They struggled into her little front room with the tree between them, and set it down in the stand she had placed in one corner. Both stood back, and he wasn't oblivious to the small steps Ruth took, deliberately, away from him.

"It's a lovely tree," he said, rather lamely.

Ruth nodded, and then sighed, as if realising she couldn't stay silent all through his visit. "Thank you," she said, looking in his direction, though not into his face. "For – for your help. I would have been there for hours."

He smiled, amused by the mental image her words conjured in his mind. "You're welcome."

"Can I… can I get you anything? Some tea, or coffee?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, seeing the tension in her shoulders and curled hands. She was wound tighter than a bowstring, and it could only be because of him. _I shouldn't have come_, Harry thought as his heart sank further.

"Well, anyway," he said, as the silence stretched again. "I don't want to disturb you. I'm sure you have plenty you want to be getting on with. I just wanted to return this."

Harry held out his open hand. He thought suddenly that he should perhaps have put it in a box, but that hadn't occurred to him, and anyway, that probably would have been absurd. Wouldn't it?

Ruth stared at his hand. "My ring," she said, softly. "You found it. I didn't think-" She reached out, her slim fingers brushing his hand as she took it. Harry couldn't help but smile at her muted delight. She slipped it on, and looked up at him for the first time, her eyes luminous. "Thank you. _Thank_ you."

"Well, I wasn't going to let it vanish, Ruth," he said quietly. "Not when you were willing to defy an armed man to keep it."

Her cheeks coloured again. Ruth looked down at her hands, fingers twirling the ring around and around. Harry hesitated. He'd done what he came here to do - well, the part of it that he knew without doubt would be welcome – and there was no reason to stay longer. But he didn't want to go. He stood there in her front room, smelling the scent of pine, watching her lowered face and knowing that she didn't want him there. But there was nowhere else he wanted to be, no one else he wanted to be with. So to get past this, they had to face the elephant in the room. Because if they didn't, how could they possibly work together from now on? He had to reassure her that whatever embarrassment she was feeling, there was no need. If she wanted to forget what had happened and put it behind them, he would do that. It would be better than losing her entirely.

"Ruth," he began, clearing his throat. "Look. About last night. What happened-"

Ruth jerked as if she'd been shot, taking another step back, but saying nothing.

"I just wanted to-"

She cut him off before he could go further. "Harry, please. Please don't say anything. "I know… I know these things happen, sometimes. In the field, I mean. I know it doesn't have to mean anything. It's just… just the tension. And – and it's fine."

He blinked. "It is?"

Ruth nodded, emphatically, but still didn't meet his eye. "Yes. After Christmas – everything will be back to normal. Won't it? As if nothing happened. Which it didn't, really. Did it? So…"

She trailed off, eyes still fixed on her hands, fractious fingers still twisting her ring this way and that. Harry stared at her.

"Ruth,' he said, hoarsely. "Is that what you think? Is that… Is that what you _want_?"

Her fingers stopped moving. Everything about her was still. And then she said, "No. _Yes._ I mean, I don't… It's not… I wasn't-"

Harry took a step closer. "Ruth, I haven't thought of anything but since," he told her, his voice low. "About what happened. What didn't happen. What could have happened. And what – what I _wanted _to happen. Have you?"

Ruth's cheeks flamed as she sucked in a ragged gulp of air. Her gaze roamed the room. He waited, patiently, holding his breath, as she finally brought herself to look at him. "N-no," she whispered. "Nothing else, Harry. Nothing else."

They stared at each other, the air around them so charged that it almost sparked. And then Harry moved, closing the space between them quickly. He reached up to take her face in his hands, his fingertips brushing the edge of her daft woolly hat.

"Do you even know how beautiful you are?" he murmured, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how quickly you took my breath away last night?"

Ruth's eyes took on a watery sheen. "That was just the dress," she whispered.

"It wasn't the dress," he told her, as their lips met. "It was you."

The first time Harry undressed her, he did so selfishly, not knowing any other way. They had made it to her room, to her bed, and once he had stripped her naked they lay, side by side, on the clean white sheets. She was a sculpture, her body serene in its beauty. Harry turned Ruth away from him, revealing her marble-white back. He ran his tongue along the incline of her shoulderblade, tasting her. His hand repeated its journey of the previous night, but this time his lips followed in the wake of his fingers, teasing, caressing. He had to pause now and then, still shocked at himself for being here, like this, with her. He looked at her. Ruth turned her head, desire imprinted in her eyes. Harry slid his hand over her backside, then back up over her hip, brushing low over her stomach to tease her, then up to cover one breast. She made a sound, a tiny "oh" of pleasure, and he kissed her again, and again, deeper, and deeper, his hands learning the contours of her body.

They made love for hours as the snow fell. They occupied each other with the passion, if not the agility, of teenagers. And by the time Harry sank into sleep, his knowledge of her was no longer selfish.

-X-

Where Harry slept, Ruth only dozed. She was woken properly by Fidget, who jumped on the bed to demand food with a persistent miaow, and to display indignation at the intruder in her spot.

"Fidget!" Ruth hissed, "Get down. Get-"

She threw a pillow and the cat scarpered. Harry slept on, undisturbed. Ruth looked at the time on her bedside clock, astonished to see it had passed 8pm. They had, quite literally, spent the day in bed. Ruth looked at Harry's sleeping form, and still couldn't really believe he was there. And yet she could still feel him, there, between her legs. She tingled. She needed a shower.

Ruth slipped out of bed quietly, although it seemed nothing would wake Harry. She showered and dressed, picking up her strewn clothes, remembering how Harry had divested her of them, hours before. He had been strong and confident, which had not surprised her. He had also been gentle, which had.

Downstairs, she once again fed Fidget, and then, to occupy her over-active mind, dragged out the box of Christmas decorations. It must have been more than an hour later when she heard footsteps on the stairs, and Harry appeared. He was dressed in his trousers and shirt, and his hair was mussed.

Ruth stood up from where she had been seated on the floor. They stared at each other.

"I woke up and you were gone," he said, rather sadly.

"Sorry. Sorry, I - I didn't want to wake you, and…" she trailed off as he walked toward her. She felt a ghost of his teasing fingers inside her, his lips around one nipple. The tingle returned.

"Ruth," Harry said, throatily, coming to a stop in front of her. "Please tell me that what we've spent today doing wasn't a one-off."

She shook her head, her heart swelling. She hadn't realised how nervous she'd been of him waking up, of saying it had all been a mistake. Harry reached out, taking the bauble she had been intending to hang and tossing it away before tugging her to him.

"Thank God for that," he murmured, against her lips, as he pushed her toward the sofa. "Because somehow, I think I've found the elixir of youth. Come here."

Sometime later, Ruth heard the bells ring out at midnight. It was Christmas Day, and for the first time in years, her tree was not lit.

But somehow, that didn't seem to matter.

[END. KIND OF]


End file.
